The Fugitive Son (15 page)

Back at Hettie’s cabin, Andy spent his time getting the shack ready for winter and teaching the boys the games he had enjoyed as a lad. Each day, however, he made a trip into Parowan. Each trip dismayed him further as the paranoia grew worse. The entire area seemed to be under a siege mentality, fearful of the advancing troops.

Sometimes he took Matthew, Mark, and Luke with him on his daily visits, leaving the youngest boy, John, to stay behind with his mother and sister. He tried to shield the boys from all the frightful talk, but war mongering permeated every conversation, making it inevitable they would pick up on it.

“Are soldiers really going to kick the prophet out?” Matthew asked one afternoon while they were climbing one of the Castle Peaks.

Andy steadied his grip on an outcropping and turned to the boy. “They won’t forcefully kick him out. I think they’re just coming to tell him he can’t be governor anymore. The prophet has ruled Utah ever since we first came out here ten years ago, and President Buchanan thinks it’s time to appoint somebody else to be governor.” Even if someone else were the governor, Andy knew that the prophet would still consider himself the supreme ruler of Deseret. Brother Brigham wouldn’t let anyone else govern his kingdom. But he wasn’t going to share these thoughts with his half-brothers.

Mark chimed in from his perch on a flat ledge overlooking the valley. “Bet a new guv’ner will make Ma happy. She don’t like the prophet. She says he’s a pompous old donkey.”

“We’re not s’posed to talk about what Ma says at home,” Matthew admonished his younger brother. “Ma says it could get us all in trouble.” He turned toward Andy for confirmation. “Ain’t that right, Andy?”

“With all this talk about war going on, it’s probably best not to talk about things from home out in public,” Andy agreed.

But Mark obviously had more on his mind he needed to unload. “But we’re not in public now, are we?” He glanced around as if looking for a spy in the woods. Satisfied they were alone on the mountain, he asked, “Did Ma tell you about what those big guys did at our school?”

“Don’t recollect that she did. You got some boys bullying you? Just let me know, and we’ll clean their plow!” Andy ruffled Mark’s hair.

“Oh, no! It weren’t kids from school – it was a couple of church leaders what did it,” Mark said.

“Church leaders bullying little kids? Maybe you misunderstood…”

Mark was adamant. “Nope! One of the purty older gals was always making eyes at our friend Eli, and they sneaked off together a couple of times. So one of the church leaders who wanted to marry her followed ‘em and cut off Eli’s man parts.”

Andy was aghast. Surely this wasn’t true. A church leader wouldn’t do that!

Sensing Andy’s doubts, Matthew backed up his brother’s story. “It’s true. They hung his bloody parts in the front of the schoolroom to remind all of us boys that the leaders get first pick of the purty gals!”

Feeling sick to his stomach, Andy had no answer for the boys. What kind of evil place was this? What else were these devilish “Saints” capable of? When he was composed enough to use his voice, he told the boys, “I think it’s time we headed back to the cabin. Your ma probably has supper started for us.”

When they arrived home, Hettie had an urgent message for Andy from the prophet. “Apostle Smith stopped by to see you, but he couldn’t wait till you came home. Said he was delivering warnings to the saints all over the southern settlements.”

“So what did he want with me?”

Hettie handed him a sealed envelope. “Said to give this to you.”

Andy ripped open the envelope while Hettie and the children stood near in anticipation and curiosity. He glanced at the brief, terse note. “I’ve got to leave right away. The prophet has an urgent job for me, and I’m to make haste to get back up there as soon as possible.”

Kansas Prairie

Elsie guided the wagon as it jolted across the endless prairie, glad that she was getting the early morning turn at the reins. Isaac had volunteered to endure the broiling sunshine of the afternoon shift so she could stay under the shade of the billowing canvas top.

She looked down at her sun-scorched, freckled arms with dismay. “I declare,” she muttered aloud, “no one would think of me as a delicate Southern belle now! I’m more like a field hand. And if my arms are this freckled and burned, what must my face look like?” She tugged at the wide brim of her bonnet, trying to shield her face from further damage. Suddenly the wagon gave a mighty lurch, followed by a loud clanging sound, then stopped dead still.

Isaac leapt from his resting place inside the wagon. “What in the world? What’s happening?”

Elsie shrugged. “I have no idea.”

Isaac jumped down and crawled under the wagon. “Oh, no!” he groaned in dismay. “We’ve broken something under the carriage.”

Elsie climbed down and poked her head under the wagon. “Can you fix it?”

After what seemed like an eternity, Isaac managed to wrestle the broken pieces off. He slid out from under the wagon, holding the two halves of a metal brace. “See here,” he said as his finger traced along the edge of one of the pieces. “It sheared right in two. The only way we’re going to fix it is if we have a spare one in the parts box. Let me check and see.”

As Isaac rummaged through the wooden parts box on the back of the wagon, Elsie looked toward the horizon. The rest of the wagon train was just a far-off cloud of dust. Since she and Isaac had been bringing up the rear, the others weren’t aware of their predicament.

Isaac sighed wearily as he closed the parts box. “We’re not going anywhere anytime soon. We don’t have a spare.”

“So what do we do now?” Elsie couldn’t keep the worry out of her voice. “The other wagons are out of ear shot and nearly out of sight.”

Isaac hurriedly saddled the horse they had roped to the wagon. “Just sit tight – I’ll catch up with them and get help.” He galloped off in the direction of the wagon train.

As Elsie watched Isaac fade into the distance, she sat in the broken-down wagon praying, her mood churning between worry and trust. “Dear God, keep us safe. I know the Indians rarely attack wagons this close to civilization, but there’s always a first time.”

The sun rose high in the sky, and still Isaac hadn’t returned. Where was he? Why hadn’t he come back? Surely the train hadn’t gotten that far beyond them. She watered the mules and fixed a small lunch while she waited. Still no Isaac.

Another overloaded stagecoach raced by. She tried to flag it down. But the driver merely looked at her and shouted, “No time! Already behind schedule!”

Disgusted at the lack of chivalry, she muttered, “This is like the story of the Good Samaritan. Nobody has time to stop and help.”

Addressing the animals, the only living creatures within earshot, she said, “I can either sit around and worry myself into a fright or pass the time improving my mind. Good Methodist girl that I am, I choose to do something useful.”

She climbed into the wagon and reached under her featherbed for her book box, the box Isaac had teased her about. She smiled, remembering his jests. “Only you would insist on bringing along a box of heavy books. Your brothers said we should only tote items that are necessary.”

“Books are necessary!” she had declared. “I can’t live without my books! Out on the frontier, there may be no place to buy books and probably nobody to borrow them from.” She had stomped her foot, insistent on taking the books. “If you don’t want to load them, I’ll carry them myself!” Isaac had laughed at her as he hefted the box onto his broad shoulders.

Today, she was ever so thankful she had won that argument. She looked through the box and finally brought out a well-read copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin. She had read all of the books before, but they were certainly worth another go around, and this one was her favorite. Lost in the story of Eliza and her son taken in by a Quaker family, Elsie had forgotten how much the story sounded like home. The Christians who at great risk helped the runaways, the Underground Railroad, even the steamboat journey – she could relate to much of it.

Engrossed in the story, she didn’t notice the passage of time until it got too dark to read. Glancing out of the wagon, she saw the sky ablaze with a spectacular sunset over the prairie and shuddered. Nightfall and Isaac still hadn’t returned! Would she have to spend the night here alone on the prairie? Where could he be? Isaac would never deliberately leave her alone. Something had to have happened to him.

She allowed her thoughts to return to what she considered her “worry mode.” She remembered Isaac’s story about the men who had been watching him in Kansas City. Were they slave hunters looking to make a fast fortune? She knew that strong slaves were much in demand and brought upwards of $2,500 on the auction block. That was about ten times more than the average worker made in a whole year’s employment!

“Dear God, please keep your hand of safety and protection over Isaac,” she pleaded, as she tried to think of more positive explanations for his delay. Maybe he had caught the wagon train and they were coming back with replacement parts for her wagon. She calculated the time it would take for the train to turn around and come back. Surely it wouldn’t have taken all day.

Before it grew totally dark, she again watered and fed the stock, thankful that the wagon had broken down near a stream. Chores all done, she shrugged her shoulders and snuggled down in her featherbed. “I will not be afraid,” she told herself. “I will trust in God to protect me and help me get through this.” Listening to the hooting of owls and the howling coyotes well into the night, she frequently had to remind herself of her resolve.

Elsie awoke to the deafening silence of the morning. All she could hear was a slight riffling of the breeze across the tops of the tall prairie grasses. Looking out across the vast expanse, she drew in her breath. It looked almost like she imagined an ocean would look, the blowing grasses closely resembling rolling waves. She scanned the horizon, hoping to see a dust billow or some sign of movement that would show Isaac returning to the wagon.

Seeing nothing but the rippling grass, she went about her morning duties, praying that Isaac was not lying injured somewhere. Could the horse have thrown him in his haste to catch up to the wagon train? She felt so utterly helpless. She could saddle up a mule and go look for him. But he could be anywhere in the vast prairie. It would be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Who would care for the other mules while she was gone? And what if she couldn’t find him? Would she be able to make her way back here?

If she left the wagon, it would be an open invitation for someone to take her mules, along with the family treasures destined for her new home in Santa Fe. Was this a lesson from God that she was too sure of her own abilities? Or that she put too much stock in material possessions? Mayhap he wanted to teach her to depend on others and especially on him? Well, she had to depend on him now. There was no one else around.

Feeling the bright prairie sun growing hotter on her arms, Elsie stood out in the middle of the trail for one last look around before seeking relief under the shade of the prairie sails of her wagon. She strained her eyes, trying to shield them from the noonday sun. Was that a puff of dust heading her way?

As the small cloud of dust came closer, she didn’t know if she should hide or stay in the middle of the trail to stop whomever it was. She could see already that it wasn’t Isaac. This was a large wagon, traveling slower than a stagecoach. As it drew near, she could make out the driver – a wide-shouldered giant of a man decked out in a buckskin tunic and a flat-crowned hat.

The formidable-looking stranger pulled his team to a halt. He climbed down and approached her, displaying a confident swagger and demeanor that at once brought to mind pictures of Texas cowboys she had swooned over as a teenager. “Howdy, ma’am,” he drawled, tipping his hat. “Alistair Abner Ainsley the Third at your service.” he announced grandly.

Elsie choked back a giggle, glancing at the spurs attached to the back of his tall moccasins. The highfalutin name and the manner in which he presented it seemed at odds with his quaint mix of rugged cowboy and Indian clothing. The man was a total enigma, and the sophisticated name didn’t fit the picture at all.

She studied him at length before replying. How much should she reveal to this stranger? Was he dangerous, or a friend she could ask for help? A merry twinkle in his eye settled the questions for her. Holding out her hand, she offered, “I’m Elsie Condit, en route to Santa Fe to join my brothers.”

It was the stranger’s turn to be abashed. “They allowed you to travel alone?”

“Not really. Isaac… my personal slave… is escorting me. But our wagon broke down, and the wagon train kept going, not realizing we had fallen behind. So Isaac took our horse to catch up to them.”

“And where is this Isaac now? How long has he been gone?”

Oh, dear! Alone in the middle of nowhere with a strange man she knew nothing about! Had she already said too much?

The man slowly stroked his clean-shaven chin. “Late evening yesterday, I saw a gang of bounty hunters hauling off a big man in chains. At first glance, I thought they had captured a burly bear. He was huge, black, and fighting them like a grizzly, but it looked like they finally got him subdued as they drug him off.” He looked at her intently. “He was dressed in mighty fine clothes for a slave. Does that sound like he could be your man?”